my green

018 : baby

ac: aot_hd

no matter the amount of times you end up in this circumstance—surrounded by strobing lights and boisterous music—eren and you wind up enclosed by four walls.

he stares–admiring. not in the way his mama would label as rude or disrespectful, but like he's afraid he'd forget you if he laid his eyes elsewhere.

maybe it's the way you recognize your reflection in the sink mirror, the way you recall every constant turn in your life that has led you to become the person before you. maybe it's the way your palms smooth away the smallest of wrinkles along the ivory, slip dress with lace sewn into the hems, how the green-yellowish light of the family restroom reflects off the silk material. eren admires the end of your wardrobe, where the final hem reaches above your mid-thigh.

maybe he's attempting to piece every stitch—like he's sewing your lives together—to fathom how he ended up with you. how you ended up with him.

his eyes are fire against your skin. your cheeks burn, the lines in your palms flood with rivers of sweat. you've come to learn that his lack of sound either meant he was deep in thought or watching you like his prey—or both.

he holds your jacket over his forearm, arms tangled across his torso and his shoulder blades against the tiled wall to the right of you. he's sighing, elongating his breath, sure that it'll reach you somehow and gather all of you in an embrace.

now you brush away fallen mascara specks from your cheeks, finger tips soft against the thin layer of makeup. your hips meet the edge of the marble sink, bending to take a closer look at the lazy eye makeup you brushed on–a thin wing and sheer glitter over your eyelids.

you're blinking to adjust your sight, to focus on the artwork when eren clears his throat. he finds himself flushed, looking away although it was beyond his wish, and jaw pulsating. you look over to see that he stares at the wooden door, drowning in whatever came over him.

"yes?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

he hums, looks over towards you, "what?"

"you cleared your throat, is everything okay?" you ask as you turn to press your lower back along the edge of the sink, palms bracing the marble finish for support.

eren nods, a lazy smile rising on his face, he sighs again, "yeah, everything is cool," he forces himself off the wall with a quiet grunt, "i'm fine."

your eyes follow his moves. he throws your thin jacket over his shoulder and in long steps he approaches the sink to stand beside you. his reflection on the wide glass, he can't recognize himself.

his fingers straighten the collar of his short sleeve button up, far too baggy for his build. three buttons undone to draw attention to the tan skin of his chest and the thin chain that hangs from his neck. eren often settled for black clothing, he felt safe in it, but tonight he wears this white shirt as a form of surrendering to you.

your breath is caught in your throat, it's impossible to swallow when you're trailing down his side to piece together his attire—the large, white collared shirt paired with dark dress pants and to tie it together, on his feet are his signature, dirty converse.

the music from outside the four walls causes the floor to vibrate, the marble against your palms to shake and send a shock of tingles up your forearms and biceps until it numbs your tips of your shoulders.

"we're always in this situation," you say as you blink away from his physique and to the tiles on the floor, "hiding."

"i wouldn't call it hiding," he turns and mimics your place against the wash, "more like preparing ourselves."